


You and Me and Us and Now

by Grinner_H



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 19:10:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4636914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grinner_H/pseuds/Grinner_H





	You and Me and Us and Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ominous_Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ominous_Rain/gifts).



I like to pretend we're a secret, somedays. 

Days like today - with my arms curved around your waist and my teeth nipping your left shoulder through the pale cotton fabric of your shirt; an attempt at distracting you from that book you're perusing. 

It comes easily to me, _pretending,_ and I don't really know _why_ I do it because we're _not_ a secret, nor do I _want_ us to be. 

But it's easy to think it when I spin you around and shove you against these shelves of dusty old books which no one but you ever reads; when that novel falls from your hands and hits the ground like spare change from a pocket turned inside out, when I kiss you beneath the flickering light of a fluorescent tube like an old cliché. 

I like to think that - in moments like these - I'm the most romantic guy in all the world, even when you so often roll your pretty eyes at me and call me _silly._ Here we are, two fools in love, playing at secret trysts in darkened library corners and dressing rooms. 

We could be a forbidden love story without the tragedy. I'll be Ral and you'll be my Aldin. I fancy myself the humble stable boy and you the lonely prince I'd rescue from your high walls and even higher towers. 

I'd free you from the stranglehold of your overbearing family and we'd flee on horseback, never looking back at those wrought iron castle gates which for too long have denied you your freedom. 

And we'd live deep in the woods where none but the creatures who inhabit it would find us, where I'd make love to you constantly in the lake and upon the forest floor.

I fantasize about such things sometimes, though I know that _reality_ isn't much different, even when it isn't at all the same, and I know that, truthfully, I wouldn't have it any other way. 

\--

There's a hole in the wall in our living room, from when I was too drunk and you were too heartbroken. 

I look at it sometimes - times like right now on our lumpy couch, your head in my lap and my hand in your hair. 

And I remember way back. Back when I was twenty-one and incomplete, back when I used to watch you through my window and yours; wondering why the only time you looked peaceful was with a book in your hand, wondering if you were as lonely as I didn't want to believe I was. 

And I remember the moment you watched me watching you, when we decided that being alone together was better than being alone by ourselves. 

I like to recall these things sometimes - the way we used to run into each other in libraries and convenience stores and coffeehouses. You don't even _drink_ coffee. But I'd find you there, just as I'd find you reading on a park bench, so lost in the words of others, till I distracted you enough so you'd be lost in _mine._

I never thought I was the jealous kind, but I always am when it comes to _you._

I remember the night we took a sledgehammer to this wall. I was so angry then - angry _for_ you, but most of all, angry _at_ you. 

I know that freedom scares you sometimes. I know that it's easy to confuse duty with love, to call your cage a home when you've lived your whole life in one.

I know you thought your family's all you had - you _still_ think that way sometimes - but you're better off without them.

I remember being so angry then, that you grieved for the loss of people who didn't _deserve_ you.

We covered this hole with cloth hooked on nails, but I look at it sometimes and remember the first step you took to healing. 

And I remember the moment I fell in love. 

\--

This is pretty fucking romantic - kissing you in the stairwell of our apartment building, my hands on your face and you on the step below mine. 

I've never told you - not explicitly, though I know you know anyway - that I really hate these two inches you have over me. I know it's a trivial thing but I don't want to help it. Call me traditional, but I never _wanted_ to be the guy who's gotta tilt his head _up_ during kisses. That's just not the way it's supposed to be. 

So I stand a step above you and kiss you like I'm trying to steal the air from your lungs to fill my own. And it's romantic; being here with you in this dimly lit stairwell, my fingers tracing the smoothness of your cheek, yours tangling in the short strands of my hair.

Maybe I'm a little possessive, but I like to think of moments and places and things belonging solely to _us._

Like sitting on these steps or leaning against the rusted handrail, indulging in cigarette kisses and Coke bottle conversations. Moments we raced each other down to the sixth floor, then ran like hell to the rooftop, just 'cause we could. 

And maybe this makes me one helluva cheeseball, but I feel like I can do anything when I'm with you.

Some guys are all about flowers and elevators and singing beneath windows. Me, I'm _this_ kinda guy - the one who kisses you amid graffitied walls and ashed cigarettes, kissing you back five years, when you were the age I am right now, to shattered walls and unvoiced vows, to red wine nights and cloudy Sunday mornings. 

I kiss you now - in this moment where there's nothing but _us_ \- and I think about bliss and how you feel like home.

\--

There's this little boy who lives in the building across the street, in what used to be my apartment. He could be five or he could be small for his age - this skinny, silver-headed kid who makes faces at me sometimes, who tries to fly paper planes from his window ledge to ours. 

His family, well, they're the _happy_ kind. The kind who laugh at the dinner table and play Pictionary on Wednesdays. The kind who hug their kids and give them piggyback rides 'round the living room.

They're a lot like _my_ family, really. I know they're nothing like _yours._

I enjoy watching them, somedays. 

On bad days - days when I know it makes you sad to catch a glimpse of what you should have had - I draw the curtains and distract you with Stewie Griffin impressions. 

And on the good days, I take pictures of them. 

I know you always say it's an invasion of privacy, but I've learned that the best photographs are the ones taken when no one but me's looking. 

And the best moments? Well, those are the ones you aren't watching through a camera. 

Like when I walk through the door and greet you with _"Honey, I'm home!"_ and _"Where's my dinner?"_ in my best George Parker voice, because I know it never fails to make you laugh.

Or cruisin' along the freeway with you riding shotgun in my beat up old Mustang, windows down and music cranked up, singing _"Woah-oah-oah, woah-oah-oah"_ to the Jessica Rabbit figurine on my dashboard.

You twisting and piling your gorgeous hair on top of your head, then hiding it beneath my baseball cap. I like watching some strands slip free, the way they spill about the elegant nape of your neck.

Dancing in the moonlight to music no one else can hear. I love holding you close to me, my lips against your ear when I sing, _"I'm crazy for you, so baby let's get it on."_

And then there's _this_ \- your cock in my mouth and my fingers in _you._

Watching your stomach contract and your head tilting backward, baring the sensuous line of your immaculate throat to me. 

The sensation of you trembling beneath me. It's a heady thing - watching you, _feeling_ you. Knowing that you're falling apart at the edges because of _me._

And later, fucking you - your legs on my shoulders and my hands all over you. I love watching you like this; stunning, electric, _my_ Fei, you have no goddamn clue how fucking beautiful you always are to me. 

You're beautiful when we fuck, and you're beautiful when I wake beside you, your head against my chest and my toes tickling your shins.

But this is the thing, see? The _one thing_ that's the crux of it all. 

That I'd go back and do this over and over again. I'd live this life a million times and more and each time - each _moment_ \- I'd infallibly choose _you._

\--

Some nights, we sit upon hills and watch the distant city lights.

I pull up blades of grass between my fingers. I watch you watch the stars. 

I exaggeratedly proclaim, "Who needs to look at the stars when we _are_ stars?"

And I feel you rest your cheek against my shoulder, body vibrating with your laughter. 

I put my arm around you, pull you tight against my side. 

And I fancy us heroes.


End file.
